Wrong and Write
by International08
Summary: It had started innocently enough. My entry for the Castle Hiatus Ficathon 2013. In progress.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: Alex, thank you for the idea, my friend...I hope I can do it justice. Sheep, thanks for the beta, love. _

* * *

It had started innocently enough.

Well, if by 'innocently,' one really means 'mostly unintentionally.'

He still remembers the day his partner walked into the bullpen and couldn't quite look him in the eye. They hadn't been fighting; in fact, he thought they'd been working together better than ever.

But Kevin Ryan was a little shifty, a little jumpy all day, stepping back a bit too quickly when Esposito sidled up next to him in front of the murderboard with a new piece of evidence, giving a noncommittal shrug when Esposito offered to spring for lunch from their favorite Thai place down the street, rapidly shaking his head and muttering about nebulous plans with Jenny when Esposito asked if he wanted to catch a Knicks game sometime soon.

Esposito confronted him the next morning in the precinct gym, startling his partner as the other man finished a set of crunches, extending a hand and heaving Ryan to his feet. His partner, his friend — his brother — still wasn't meeting his eyes, and Esposito was sick of it.

"What the hell, bro?" he asked, even as Ryan tried to slip past him.

His partner just shook his head. "What the hell what?"

Esposito eyed him disbelievingly. "You know what. What's going on with you?"

He observed the battle — honesty or evasion — in Ryan's eyes for a moment, but finally the other man shrugged and scrubbed a hand over his flushed, sweaty face.

"Fine," the Irishman said. "I'll explain. Just give me a chance to get a shower and then I'll meet you up in the break room."

Esposito nodded, and watched as his partner turned and strode quickly into the locker room.

Twenty-five minutes later, Javier Esposito found himself with his eyes glued to a tiny screen, his thumb scrolling absently as he read, unable to tear himself away from the words — so many words.

"It's called fanfic," Ryan said in a low voice as Esposito finally stopped scrolling. "It's...they...it's a way for fans of movies or books or TV shows — whatever, really, sometimes even real people — to engage with the worlds they love."

Esposito stared at him dumbly, still processing that there was this whole body of work...that people actually wrote stories — very detailed stories — about him and Ryan.

Well, about their literary alter egos, Detectives Sean Raley and Miguel Ochoa, collectively known as "Roach."

Still, the characters were so obviously Esposito and his partner, and the way these writers had captured their speech patterns and looks and behavior...he turned and glanced out the break room window, certain that some of the fellow officers must have been clandestinely observing them and writing these stories in their free time, grossly misconstruing the nature of his relationship with his partner.

In front of him, said partner shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, and Esposito turned his attention back to Ryan.

"Esposito," the other man began. "'Javi, I–"

Esposito shook his head, handing Ryan's phone back to him and pushing himself up from his chair.

"S'okay, man," he assured his partner. "It's not like you're the one writing them."

Ryan looked away guiltily.

"Bro..." Esposito said, and then trailed off, slightly horrified.

Kevin said nothing.

"Tell me you haven't," he continue when Ryan met his eyes again, a hint of defiance brightening the blue. "Dude, you're married, and I...I mean, I love you and all, but not like that."

Ryan's defiance melted into horror, and he held up both hands in a gesture of supplication. "No. Not...just no. Not about us. Just–"

"Just what?" Esposito asked, arching one eyebrow.

"There's...in addition to the Roach fic...that's what they call it," Ryan explained. "There's all kinds of Nookie fic."

"Nookie?" Esposito wondered aloud, tilting his head to one side.

"Yeah," Ryan said. "You know, Nikki and Rook."

Esposito nodded slowly.

"And you've been writing..." he hesitated, "fic about them?"

Ryan shuffled his feet. "Well, not written, per se, but I...I've had a few ideas."

Esposito said nothing, waited for his partner to continue.

"It's just...most of what's out there for Nookie isn't that great, doesn't really get to the heart of the characters, y'know?"

Esposito scoffed. "Right. The heart of the characters."

Ryan turned an uncharacteristic glare on him. "What I'm saying...what I'm saying is that we have an inside look at Nookie, at the *real* Nookie — Castle and Beckett — and I bet that if we wrote something, it'd be a lot closer to what they're really like and we'd get a lot of good reviews."

"Reviews?" Esposito asked, watching as Ryan nodded enthusiastically. "People review these things?"

And then the rest of what his partner had said registered. "Wait...did you say 'we?'"


	2. Chapter 2

"Bro."

He knows that tone. It's the tone that means Esposito thinks he's being an idiot but doesn't want to come out and just say it. The one he hears when he sides with Dad and his crazy theories versus Mom's cool logic, when his partner starts referring to him as "Castle Junior."

It's a bit patronizing, that tone. Ryan's not a fan.

"What?" he snaps and when he turns and sees the way Espo is looking at him with furrowed eyebrows, he realizes his retort maybe came out a little harsher than he intended.

But his partner shakes his head, waves off the apology on the tip of Kevin's tongue, and points at the screen, his finger indicating a spot a few lines above the blinking cursor.

Esposito nods toward the computer. "No offense, but I think your characterization's a little off there."

"Really."

Ignoring his sarcastic reply, the Latino detective continues. "Yeah, I mean, she would never say that to him. It's too—"

"Too what?" Ryan asks.

He's been working on this chapter every free moment he's had over the past few days, and it hasn't been easy. They were slammed by a double homicide — a nasty one — on Monday morning, and it's been a grueling week. He's barely seen his wife, has seen far more of the couch in the break room than he'd like, and he really thought he was almost finished with this chapter.

He'd promised in the author's note at the end of the last chapter that he'd update within a week. And he's running out of time.

Now Esposito thinks his characterization is off?

"It's too...lovey-dovey," his partner finally says. "She would never say that."

"Dude," Ryan scoffs. "Did you just say 'lovey-dovey' out loud?"

He's a little surprised when Esposito's tan skin turns slightly pink.

"Shut up, man," the other detective growls. "Not so loud."

Ryan realizes his comment *was* of a slightly higher volume than he intended, and he glances around the bullpen quickly, hoping no one noticed their conversation.

Thankfully, all the other detectives around are absorbed in their work, perusing phone records or staring at whiteboards. A few uniforms stride purposefully through the space, escorting suspects and delivering evidence. Gates is ensconced in her office, gnawing on the cap of her pen, glasses perched on the end of her nose as she reads a file.

Beckett and Castle are nowhere to be seen. Despite the rule about checking in, instituted after that run-in with a tiger last year, he's not sure where they are. They might be out running down a lead. They might've gone to grab lunch (he's sure Esposito will give them a piece of his mind if they don't come back with enough for the boys). They might be holed up in a supply closet, going at it like teenagers.

He shudders a little at that last image.

"Sorry, bro," he tells Esposito. "I guess I'm just a little on edge."

His partner nods. "Hell, man, we all are. This case..."

Ryan shrugs. "Sure, but we've had tough cases before. It's actually...actually it's the story. I didn't realize it would be so much pressure to get it done."

Espo cocks his head. "Pressure? Really?"

Sighing, Ryan leans back in his desk chair, scrubs a hand over his face, then runs his fingers through his hair. It's getting long again, growing out after he had to get it cut short for his masquerade as Fenton O'Connell a few months back.

"Yeah, some," he says. "I didn't tell you, but I've gotten a few messages wondering when we're going to update."

Esposito grins. "Messages? Really?"

Ryan feels the corner of his mouth turning up at the look on his partner's face. "Yeah. Y'know, I've got the reviews set to forward to you automatically, but a few people have sent me private messages, and I forgot to show them to you."

The Irish detective surreptitiously checks the perimeter to make sure no one is watching, that no one can see his screen. Then he clicks to open a new tab, quickly types in the address for his webmail service, puts in his name and password, and finds one of the messages.

"Here," he says, clicking on it. "You can read it for yourself."

He glances at Esposito, sees the other man's eyes tracking the words, and then looks back to the screen himself.

"_Your story is great,"_ the message says. "_I feel like you really know the characters well. They seem so real, especially the dialogue and the banter. Just like Castle himself would've written. But is there any chance we could get faster updates? It seems like we have to wait so looooooong between chapters._"

Esposito chuckles. "At least they like it. It's a compliment, bro."

Ryan leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "I know. I know. I just...this is a bigger commitment than I thought it would be."

His partner shrugs. "Your idea, man. You know I was against it."

Snorting, Ryan shoves Esposito's shoulder. "Yeah, like you haven't been eating up every positive review."

Espo's grin widens. "I mean, c'mon man, how could I not? That one where the person quoted all of their favorite lines? That was awesome."

Some of the tension seeps from Ryan's shoulders as he reaches for the half-empty coffee mug on the corner of his desk. His partner is right. It *is* awesome.

"And I mean, yeah," Esposito continues. "There was that one crazy person who insisted we skip over the plot and get straight to the whipped cream in bed, but..."

Lifting his hand quickly to his mouth to keep himself from spewing coffee all over his computer, Ryan sets down the mug, turns a glare on his partner. His laughing partner.

"See, bro?" Esposito says, thumping him heartily on the back. "Totally worth the work. Now come on, the rest of the chapter is great, it's just this line that doesn't feel right. We'll figure it out together."

"Partners?" Ryan asks hopefully.

Esposito nods. "Partners."


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: Ugh...sorry. :(_

* * *

It's been months — _months!_ — since they updated, and Javier Esposito feels awful for leaving their readers hanging.

Not as awful, he thinks, as his partner feels.

Ryan's had a hangdog expression on his face for a few days, ever since he got a message asking if the story had been abandoned.

The Irish detective had fired off a hasty reply, something about being unexpectedly slammed with cases to solve...er, papers to write (neither of them wants their readers to know that the duo behind the story isn't a really a solo act consisting of a struggling grad student)...and not having any time to do the story justice. And now here they are ten weeks after their last update and they really have got to get a chapter out.

"Bro," Esposito whispered, trying to catch his partner's attention. "Psst...Ryan."

The other detective finally looks up from his computer, something like desperation coloring in the dark shadows under his eyes.

It's more than just the cases, Esposito knows, though those have been trying enough. Three double homicides, another they thought might be a serial, a couple of kids. It's been a rough couple of months for their team.

And of course, there was the case where Ryan got hurt. Nothing too bad, nothing life-threatening, but enough to leave the guy laid up for a few days.

"At least I'll have time to write," the younger man had said one day when Esposito had stopped by the house to hang out with his partner.

Alas, it had been an overly hopeful wish. Kevin Ryan had been far to drugged up, and the little he'd written and happily emailed to Javier — with an overabundance of smiley emoticons in the note about the chapter — hadn't made a lick of sense.

Well, actually, it had made sense objectively, but Esposito just didn't feel that it fit into their overall plot, even if he did think some of their readers would appreciate a sudden and unexpected foray into pure NC-17 territory for their beloved Nikki and Rook.

Beyond the cases and Ryan's injury though, he knows the other man has had a hard time lately. Jenny's been moody — pregnancy hormones, no doubt — and that combined with her one a.m. cravings for Tibetan food have meant that the Irish detective hasn't been getting much rest, too busy either rushing over to Queens and hoping that the Himalayan Yak is still open or suffering her wrath and trying to sleep on the couch.

So Esposito sort of understands the hunted look in the other man's eyes.

He cocks his head, darting his eyes toward the breakroom, and holds up two fingers. Ryan nods, his gaze slanting toward Castle and Beckett who are trying to look inconspicuous, as if they didn't just emerge from Interrogation One looking slightly happier than usual.

Their innocent act might be more effective, Esposito thinks, if there weren't a hickey blooming just behind Castle's left ear.

Nonetheless, as long as those two are more concerned with each other than with the other members of their team, he and Ryan might be able to pull off a quick chapter planning session in the breakroom.

Pushing back from his desk, the Latino detective stands, glances around furtively, and heads toward the breakroom, trusting his partner to follow at the prearranged time.

The breakroom is empty, and Javier busies himself making a fresh pot of coffee for himself and his partner, knowing Ryan could probably use it.

"So," he says without looking up from his task when the breakroom door opens and shuts behind him. "I was thinking about the next chapter."

When his partner doesn't respond, he glances up from his rapidly filling mug, turning his head to look over his shoulder.

"The next chapter?" asks the sharply dressed woman standing behind him. "The next chapter of what?"


End file.
